


from the ice, ghosts will rise

by heartsighed



Category: VIXX
Genre: Amnesia, Captain America AU, Civil War AU, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, also the war, hongbin kills a lot of people, implied racial slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10839525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsighed/pseuds/heartsighed
Summary: There is a man on the bridge, and he wears a face from another life.Or, a retelling of the ultimate bromance (romance) of the mcu.





	from the ice, ghosts will rise

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is brought to you by my recent mcu binge. unfortunately, it isn't going to make much sense without prior knowledge of the captain america movies.
> 
> edit: changed the rating from mature to teen bc...i guess it's misleading bc there's no explicit sexual content? still be careful for references violence/torture/death, as mentioned in the tags.

There is a man on the bridge, and he wears a face from another life.

“Bin,” the man says, and his voice holds the heartbreak of seventy years.

There is a man on the bridge, and he is the mission.

The Soldier sees the mission, and he sees nothing more, nothing less.

There is a man on the bridge, and he holds a shield that once protected an entire country, that now barely covers his own torso and vital organs from the Soldier’s flashing knives.

“Bin,” says the man, and his voice holds a foreign hope.

There is a figure barreling out of the sky, wings on his back, and he shoots before the Soldier can pull out another knife.

\--

There is a man in a white coat who holds a clipboard and pushes his glasses up and says, “Report, Soldier.”

“Who was he?” he asks when they strap him into the chair.

They give no answer.

There are words pressing into his mouth.

“Report, Soldier.”

There are words where there was nothing before.

“Sergeant.”

“Report, Soldier.”

“Sergeant. Three-two—”

“ _Report_ , Soldier.”

“Sergeant. Three-two-five-five—”

“He needs to be wiped again.”

_Who was that man?_

“—Lee. Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven—”

He can hear the panic rising in his voice. Leather bites into his flesh wrist.

“Someone stop him!”

Bone crunching under his metal fingers. A cold gun pressed to his head. He lets himself fall back and there is nothing but pain, bright and white and cold, against the back of his skull.

\--

Once upon a time, there was a train.

There was a train and nothing else.

And then the train disappeared and all that was left was the cold, cold snow.

\--

There is a man in a white coat. He pushes glasses up his nose and says words that make the Soldier scream until his throat no longer makes noise.

He holds a clipboard and makes marks and the Soldier burns and freezes and cries until there is nothing left but—

“Report, Soldier,” the man in the white coat says, and the Soldier replies, “Ready to comply,” or he does not reply at all.

There is a man on the helicarrier, and he wears a face from another life.

There is a man on the helicarrier, and he is the mission.

The Soldier does not remember, but the weight of the gun in his hand is familiar.

He shoots and shoots and shoots and fights and fights and fights and the man says, “Finish it,” and the soldier realizes, “I can’t.”

“I’m with you,” says the man on the helicarrier, face bruised and beaten and open and soft. He wears a face from another life. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

And he falls.

The Soldier does not remember, but the sensation of falling into the river is familiar.

His heart beats. Three gunshot wounds, two fractured ribs, heavy bruising to the face and body—not fatal.

The Soldier does not remember, but the feel of the name from the files on his lips is familiar.

“Last name Kim, first name Wonsik,” he says, “alias Captain America.”

And he leaves.

There is a safe house where he will meet the handler and go back to the chair and the man in the white coat and the cold, cold ice. The Soldier waits and waits and waits and waits and there is no handler.

After two days of waiting (forty-two hours, seven minutes, thirteen seconds), he walks out the door and never goes back.

\--

There is a man in a white coat who pushes glasses up his nose and holds clipboards and makes marks and he dies with his fingers broken and his eyes dug out. The shot to his head is clean.

There is a folder and it holds a face from this life.

He reads the folder with a clinical eye. The face is his, but the life is not.

Last name Lee, first name Hongbin. Best friend and companion to last name Kim, first name Wonsik, alias Captain America. Sniper and sergeant in the Second World War.

“Hongbin Lee,” he says to himself, and it feels foreign.

“Bin,” he says to himself, and it feels wrong.

“What was my name?” he asks when the Captain arrives.

He is breathing hard from exertion. Uniformed, wearing the shield on his back. The Soldier takes note of the pistol on his hip.

“What was my name?”

“Lee Hongbin.” He says it with an inflection, a twist. It’s the traditional Korean pronunciation, and it feels like a wash of relief.

 _You tell them that is your name and nothing else_.

“And yours?”

“Kim Wonsik.”

“Lee Hongbin,” the Soldier tests in his mouth, and it feels better. “Kim Wonsik.”

“Yes, that’s right,” says the Captain. “Do you remember?”

And the Soldier walks away, because he does not.

\--

There is a skinny boy in Fresno, California. He never brushes his hair and cinches his pants too tight and smiles with droopy eyes and whines when his mother washes his face. He picks fights with bullies and never tells lies and coughs and coughs until his lungs nearly give out.

“Lee Hongbin,” says the woman with a stern face and crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes. “You tell them that is your name and nothing else.”

“Hon,” says the woman with a smile like melting wax and hair like dried straw. “Why don’t we call the both of you something easier to say? How about Henry and William? Why don’t we practice that: what’s your name?”

There are planes buzzing overhead and ships floating on the water and a million billion bombs raining from the sky. There is a war overseas, and before anyone can see, it is already standing on their front doorstep.

_What a joke. No matter what you call ‘em, they all look the same, those damn—_

That boy ends with a bloody nose and no front teeth.

So does the next.

So does the next.

There is a draft, and when he hears, there is only the thought of a skinny boy in Fresno, California who never brushes his hair and cinches his belt too tight and he will cough and cough and cough and cough and—

“’Til the end of the line,” says the boy, and he never lies.

They issue buttons and cards and ask—

_Do you hate them?_

There is a boy who does not tell lies.

_What is your name?_

“Reporting for duty. Lee, Hongbin. Sergeant. Serial number—”

“Three-two-five-five-seven-oh-three-eight,” gasps the Soldier as his veins burn hot and cold. He is on a table with straps on his wrists and needles in his flesh and rubber in his mouth and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts. “Hongbin Lee. Sergeant. Three-two-five—”

Sell those war bonds, Cap! Show those muscles! Kiss our babies! Give us that all-American smile!

_What is your name?_

There are cars and lines of glittering girls and red and white and blue and rain and mud and storm and guns and blood and a train and—

There is a skinny boy who once lived in Fresno, California. He coughs and cinches his pants too tight and smiles with droopy eyes and whines when his mother washes his face. He gets into fights with bullies and never tells lies and grows and grows until he’s big enough to shield a country with his body.

_Captain America’s barely an American himself. Look at his name. Look at his eyes. He’s a fucking—_

That man ends with a concussion and fractured ribs.

So does the next.

So does the next.

He is a soldier, but he is not the Soldier yet. If he were the Soldier, they would have bullets in their brains and knives in their throats.

“Bin—”

A face. A shield. A table.

“’Til the end of the line,” says the man who never lies. It is not a lie.

The line ends, and the Soldier lives and dies and lives again. He is cold and there is no one there anymore, memories slipping from his head like water through open hands.

“Bin—”

“Wonsik,” the Soldier says, eyes snapping open in the dark and shifting towards the silhouette in the window, too small and dark and quiet. “Last name Kim, first name Wonsik, alias Captain America.”

“And you?” Last name Cha, first name Hakyeon, alias Black Widow asks from his perch. His face is still and he moves with lithe grace.

The Soldier doesn’t reply.

“You know him,” says the man with the red hair. Last name Cha, first name Hakyeon, alias Black Widow. “You’re starting to remember, aren’t you?”

The painted black barrel of a rifle, heavy and cold and perfect on his shoulder. He licks his lips and tightens his finger and it feels good, so good—

“No.”

The Spider stands across from him, careful to stay in his line of sight. He does not stand too close.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Last name Cha, first name Hakyeon, alias—”

“Analyze me. Tell me what you _see_.”

He looks. “Five knives in the jacket. Three in the boots. Two pistols. A garotte on the wrist. Moves like a dancer.” He pauses. “Or a killer.”

There is a room. There is a chair.

There is a boy. His hair is not yet red.

There is a Soldier. His arm is no longer flesh.

_Lower. Put your weight lower._

The boy obeys and kicks up into a metal hand.

“I was never a dancer,” says the Spider.

There is a cliff.

There is a man. He shields his target with his body.

There is a Soldier. He is alone, but for the scope of his rifle.

He lines up the shot and there is nothing but the weapon, the weapon, the weapon.

“I know,” says the Soldier.

\--

There is a stubborn boy in Fresno, California. He slicks up his hair and spits sharp jokes and wears charming smiles on his lips.

There is a stubborn boy in Fresno, California. He loves his best friend. He knows, because he remembers that boy before he remembers even himself.

There is a stubborn soldier on a table in Austria. They fill his veins with fire and ice and he screams and screams and screams, but he does not forget.

There is a man in a uniform with a shield on his back and he is not skinny anymore, but the soldier loves him. There is a man in a uniform with a shield on his back and he has loyal men to follow him now, but the soldier loves him. There is a man in a uniform with a shield on his back and he calls himself with the same name and the soldier loves him and loves him and loves him and—

There is a stubborn soldier on a chair in a red room. They saw off his arm and set fires in his brain and he screams and screams and screams and he forgets.

The District of Columbia is not Fresno, California, but the Captain is easy to track. He walks through dark alleys and empty rooftops and the Soldier follows.

The Captain walks through the front door, and the Soldier climbs through the window.

“You came back,” the Captain says. “Do you remember?”

There is a skinny boy from Fresno, California. He does not tell lies, and his best friend loves him.

_What is your name?_

He does not lie.

_Do you hate them?_

He does not lie.

_Do you remember?_

He does not lie.

“I knew you,” Hongbin says, “in another life.”

“I know you,” Wonsik chokes, “even now.”

He does not remember.

He does not remember.

He does not remember, but he will learn again.

**Author's Note:**

> so i have finals this week.
> 
> anyway halfway through this basically became me asking myself, so what if captain america was asian? note about the cards and buttons: some places used to issue buttons and identification cards to separate asian ethnic communities. i did my research but i am in no way an expert on the effect of japanese interment on asian american communities during ww2. lmk if there's anything offensive/wrong that i need to fix.
> 
> they didn't really make it into the fic, but i imagined sanghyuk as the falcon (he had a brief appearance), jaehwan and iron man, and taek as hawkeye


End file.
